


The Things We Can Work On

by Inky



Series: Inky's Yeehaw AU Tributes [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Keith continues to be wonderful and full of love, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Yeehaw AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 20:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15648753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky/pseuds/Inky
Summary: “Keith. I was dreaming,” Shiro whispers. His eyes fall and he squeezes Keith’s hand, faintly. “Keith? How different would I be, under different circumstances? What do you think I’d be like?”"...What were you dreamin’ of, exactly?”“A different Kerberos.”





	The Things We Can Work On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buffshiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffshiro/gifts).



> yet another love letter for [tofu's](https://twitter.com/buffshiro) wonderful yeehaw AU. I've been emotional since yesterday and in between long crying spells I wrote this with my own gay baby tears. This is a sequel to my earlier fic, [The Things We Can't Fix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570399), but works as a standalone fic as well.
> 
> i will never stop writing for this au
> 
> -[elle](https://twitter.com/inkweaving)

Some nights, Keith awakens and Shiro isn’t sleeping. He’s awake and distant, staring at things Keith can’t see. It always makes him think there’s a second Shiro in his life who is completely separate from his usual warm, soft fiancé.

Shiro rarely actually leaves the bed, but there is something distant in the way he hunches forward, his flesh elbow propped on his knee and his bare chest bathed in moonlight. His head is always down. His flesh hand is always trying to cradle an arm that isn’t there, poised over the residual limb like it’s going to grow back.

Tonight is one of these rare nights; it comes in January, when the weather is cold and cruel. Outside, there’s no snow this far south, but the biting wind rattles the glass pane. Inside, Keith knows Shiro is aching.

Half-concealed by a pillow, Keith watches him with his lips downturned. Shiro's sitting on the edge of the bed, blankets still pooled in his lap and his head hanging low. There’s not much Keith can do when Shiro is like this, just another thing he can’t fix, and will probably never be able to fix. He can’t just take away phantom pain. He can't take away past trauma. He can’t take away arthritis painful enough to rouse Shiro from sleep, the cold making his joints ache.

The bed has multiple layers of blankets for this exact reason, and there’s even a two-sided heated mattress pad. Shiro’s set to high, Keith’s set to low. Keith can see he’s shivering faintly, goosebumps risen all along his biceps.

“Darlin’,” his voice rasps. Shiro shifts, turning his head partway to listen but not looking at Keith’s eyes. Rumbling lowly, Keith reaches out and touches his bare back. “Get under covers... it’s cold. C’mere.”

Shiro hesitates but eventually obeys. He twists and lies down beside Keith on his side. He shuffles closer as Keith grabs the blankets and tucks them around his shoulder. For a long while, they just lie there staring at each other, until Shiro’s left hand slides across the bedsheets, searching for Keith. Keith takes his hand in his, lifting it to his lips to kiss his engagement ring.

“You’re havin’ one of those nights,” Keith observes. He looks into Shiro’s face and there’s something wholly not _him_ there. His expression is otherworldly, weary. It’s a very... haunted expression, and it makes Keith wonder if this has something to do with Kerberos again. 

“Keith. I was dreaming,” Shiro whispers. His eyes fall and he squeezes Keith’s hand, faintly. “Keith? How different would I be, under different circumstances? What do you think I’d be like?”

Keith’s brows knit and he takes a moment to ponder. It’s a strange question that definitely doesn’t go over his radar, so he uses his free hand to rub Shiro’s forearm up and down with soothing strokes.

“I... don’t think I can answer that,” Keith says, honest. Shiro’s face falls even further, but Keith is quick to pick him back up. “I can’t imagine any other _you_ besides th’one here in my bed. What were you dreamin’ of, exactly?”

“Another life.”

“Whadda’ya mean?”

“A different Kerberos.”

His hand tightens on Keith’s like it’s his tether in the open ocean, his eyes squeezing shut and a shiver entering his voice.

“Nothing here was real. It was all a trick. I dreamt I woke up and it felt like everything we have—our farm, you, it was all just a fever dream, and really I was drifting alone in space. I just—what if... what _if_ —“

His voice breaks and he exhales in a short puff of air. Keith sees dampness forming at the corners of his eyes and his heart squeezes, tight and painful. With the hand not trapped in Shiro’s vice grip, he reaches out to comb Shiro’s hair back.

“This is real,” he assures him. “I can promise you, this is real. Me, our farm. Giada and the chicks, all of your bunnies. My love for you. You’re awake now, it was just'a nightmare. You’re here, with me. I ain’t gonna let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want to have these dreams anymore,” Shiro weeps. He curls in on himself in the bed and without question, Keith slides closer, gets into his space, and grips his fiancé in the tightest embrace he can manage. Shiro is trembling like a leaf, his voice cracking, “I’m tired, Keith.”

“I know.”

_“I’m so tired.”_

“I know,” Keith whispers again. He slides his hand up Shiro’s back, dances his fingers over the back of his neck, and threads his fingers through soft, platinum locks of hair. He realizes he’s also shaking and he grits his teeth. More things he can’t fix. An ache he can’t throw wrenches or love or kisses at, a pain so far away from his reach that he can only hold on tight and hope for the best. It's unbearable.

Shiro gasps and his breath hitches into a sob, broken and hurting. Keith feels his throat tighten and he stares at the moon through the window, wondering if he could squeeze tight enough to absorb Shiro into him and battle these demons with his own two fists.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he grinds out. His shoulder is wet with tears. “Anything. _Anything_ , I’ll do it.”

“Hold me.”

“I am.”

Keith digs his blunt fingernails into Shiro’s back, aware he’s leaving short red lines.

“You’re here. We’re not in space. An’ even if we were, I’d save you. I’d find you, Shiro, no matter what. I'd never stop searchin'. There ain’t a single reality where I won’t find you. No universe where I won’t love you. I hope the Keith in your dreams ain’t as useless as I am now.”

Shiro shifts, then, and pulls himself away so he can look Keith in the eye. His eyes are still large and glassy, and even in this moment Keith thinks it’s beautiful. Keith’s chin quivers and he settles his hand on Shiro’s cheek.

“You’re not useless,” Shiro sniffs. His eyes clear a little. “Do... do you really think that, baby?”

Keith closes his eyes tight, trying to will away his rising grief and failing.

“You’ve done so much for me,” he croaks. His accent thickens as his voice drops. “An’ I can’t do anything.”

“No... no, that’s not true,” Shiro whispers. The urgency in his voice makes Keith open his eyes again. He quickly lifts his hand from Shiro’s cheek to instead scrub at his dry eyes, expecting tears.

“I don’t know how to fix this, Shiro. It kills me when I see you like this.”

“You can’t fix it. But it’s okay.”

“How is that okay?”

“Because I know you love me.”

Keith pinches his lips together and valiantly fights off tears. Instead of dampness, his Galran eyes manifest and it coaxes a wet, tearful laugh out of Shiro.

“Your Galra is showing,” he giggles. When he tries to reach for Keith, Keith jerks his head out of his reach.

“Don’t, Shiro. _Don’t_. Hold on,” he chokes. "Please."

Together, they lie there in silence. Shiro still has tears in his eyes, but Keith fights his own off with the stubbornness of an ox. The feeling fades and so does the yellow in his eyes.

“You can cry in front of me,” Shiro whispers. When his hand comes for Keith’s face this time, Keith doesn’t reject him.

“I won’t.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“An’ this isn’t. About. _Me_ ,” Keith growls, firm and absolute. Shiro smiles, lips wavering.

“I know you feel like you can’t do anything for me when I’m like this. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothin’ to be sorry for. You’re the love of my life an’ if you need me, I’m gonna be there. I’d cross the universe for you, darlin’, if I could. I’d build my own damn rocket if I needed to.”

“I know you would,” Shiro says. His voice is soft and fond, the tears drying from his eyes. “Keith, it really does help having you here, I mean it. I’ll be better at telling you that more often.”

“You don’t _have’ta_ —“ Keith starts, heated, but he lets loose a huge sigh and concedes anyway. Little compromises, he reminds himself. He shuts his eyes briefly and opens them again when he’s composed himself, meeting Shiro’s soft gaze. “You don’t need to worry about me, Shiro.”

“But I do. You make me feel so safe. You know that?” Shiro asks. His fingers glide into Keith’s hair and comb through it, eliciting a rumbling groan from Keith that almost sounds like a purr. “I love how much you love me.”

“I do love you.”

“I love you more...”

“Mmn, no...”

They lie there in silence for a few minutes, idly petting each other. Keith lets out a yawn, unable to help himself, exhaustion settling overtop him like a blanket and making his eyelids heavy.

“I’m sorry for waking you... we can go back to sleep,” Shiro whispers. His warm breath fans over Keith’s nose; he hadn’t even realized Shiro had come even closer.

“Mm. Stop apologizin’. M’not tired. M’stayin’ up with you.”

“You can’t even keep your eyes open.”

“Mmm... I’ll find you...”

“Hm?”

“Every universe.” His words are slurred as his brain goes fuzzy. “As many...mmm...”

“...Times as it takes,” Shiro finishes for him, his words barely audible. Keith faintly feels the press of Shiro’s lips on his forehead. “Sleep, baby.”

Keith dreams about the emptiness of space.

He dreams he rises up against all odds.

He dreams that he saves Shiro from the dark, again and again, across the universe, amongst the stars, on every planet.

The Shiro and Keith in his dreams are whole and happy in their reality, too.

-*-

Keith stirs, squinting against morning light that comes through the window. His face pinches up tight and he groans. The sheets under him are damp with his sweat, the mattress pad too warm for his comfort. Grumbling, he rolls over and tries to get off the heat. He kicks the blankets off of himself and just lies there for a long moment, until the sweat cools uncomfortably on his skin and he’s cold again.

“Mmm... mornin’, gotta... mm... eggs—“

Keith’s eyes snap open. Rolling onto his side, he checks the alarm clock. It’s already almost ten in the morning.

“Aw, _shit_ ,” he curses. He forces himself to sit up and scrub his eyes with his fists. Great. Now the livestock is going to be upset with him because he didn’t get the morning feed out, he’s gotta clean the stables and—

Wait.

What’s that smell?

Keith looks up and sniffs at the air. Something smells burnt. He looks over his shoulder and Shiro isn’t there. He puts two and two together.

“Shiro?” Keith calls, cupping his hand around his mouth. “Darlin’, _please_ don’t burn the house down, you know insurance doesn’t cover you tryin’ta cook and settin’ fire to the place.”

There’s a long pause.

“Help,” comes Shiro’s sheepish reply. Keith sighs and stands, stretching his arms high up over his head and popping the joints. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and shuffles out of the bedroom and down the hall.

“I’m comin’, sweet tea, I’m comin’.”

In the kitchen, Shiro frantically chips away at what looks like the sad, charred remains of some sausage in a cast iron skillet. There’s flour all over the counter and a bowl full of... goop on top of it all. A whisk sits nearby, covered in aforementioned goop and hanging haphazardly over the edge of the counter. There’s a puddle on the floor. A cookbook sits open, covered in white flour fingerprints.

Keith looks at Shiro, and his ears are bright red. Through the flour on his face, his cheeks are red, too. He’s avoiding Keith’s eyes, still desperately scraping at the pan with a spatula. Without a word, Keith lifts his shirt to scratch an itch on his belly and comes closer to peer down at the cookbook.

“Biscuits an’ gravy,” he deadpans. “Really? You can’t even make a bowl’a grits.”

“Shut up!” Shiro huffs, and Keith throws his head back to laugh.

“Tryin’ta cook for me? What are you even doin’?”

“My _best_ , okay?”

Again, Keith tips his head back to laugh and he doesn’t shut up until Shiro rounds on him and crowds against him. He pushes Keith up against the counter and kisses him breathless.

“I think I can salvage this,” Keith says when he manages to pull his head away. Shiro keeps him pressed against the counter, a hand planted on either side of his hips and a blushing scowl on his face. Keith turns as much as he can, reaching to slide the bowl of goop closer. “This supposed t'be the biscuits?”

“...Yes.”

Keith tips the bowl back and forth, noting how thick it is.

“It just needs more milk,” he says. Then, he laughs. “It’s so smooth. Y’know if you whisk things for too long the biscuits come out tougher’n beef jerky, yeah?”

“Keith Kogane, I’m going to sew your mouth shut.”

“Why do that when you can sit on my face an’ accomplish the same thing?” Keith counters right back. Shiro’s eyes twinkle and he shifts forward. Keith drags his teeth across his bottom lip as Shiro’s hips settle hot and heavy against his own.

“That can be arranged.”

Shiro tips his head to kiss the curve of Keith’s jaw, sliding his lips over his scar and nuzzling against the stubble on his chin.

“You should stick t’what you’re good at, darlin’,” Keith taunts. “Suckin’ my di—“

He cuts off with a loud yelp as Shiro grabs him through the front of his sweatpants and grips him tight.

“ _Keith_ ,” he warns, voice sinking into that low, authoritative tone even as his bright sunbeam of a smile lights up his whole face.

“I yield!” Keith wheezes. Shiro lets him go and he sucks in a breath, one hand plunging down the front of his pants to cradle his jewels. Melodramatic, he hunches over the counter as Shiro smugly moves off of him and crosses the kitchen. Keith watches him gather paper towels through watering eyes. Ruefully, “One’a these days you’re really gonna bust my balls, an’ then how are we gonna have three daughters an’ a son, huh?”

“One, that’s really specific. Two, I don’t think anatomy works that way. You certainly do it like you’re trying, though.”

Keith shifts and purses his lips.

“It’s a weird world, Shiro. You don’t know. My ma’s an alien and sometimes I grow fangs an’ yellow eyes, so what'sa couple of kids?”

Shiro laughs as he kneels on the floor and starts wiping up the puddle. Keith watches, amused, as a drop of the goop drips from the whisk above his head and gets in his hair.

“You gotta hankerin’ for biscuits an’ gravy, then? I can make it if that's what y'feel like,” Keith says. He relinquishes his hold on his junk and starts towards the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “I’m gonna use the other skillet, though, I don’t think the one you used is gonna recover.”

“No, I know you like it, so I wanted to try...”

Keith glances over his shoulder just in time for Shiro to come up behind him and wrap his arms around him. He cuddles him close, leaning his cheek on the top of Keith’s head.

“I was wondering why it was one’a the fattiest meals you can make an’ not a white omelet with kale and that nasty vegan cheese or somethin’.”

“I wanted to make you something special,” Shiro hums. He sways with Keith wrapped up in his arms while Keith tries to wash his hands properly. Keith feels him press a kiss to the crown of his head. “As a thank you for being there for me last night.”

Keith is quiet for a long moment, hands stilling in the running water. He shuts off the faucet and shakes the water off his hands.

“You know you don’t have to thank me, right? I was there for you ‘cause I love you. You never have’ta say thank you for that.”

“I know, but I wanted to. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I wanted to show it...”

“You do, Takashi. Every single day.”

With a wet hand, he takes Shiro’s left hand and kisses his engagement ring for perhaps the thousandth time since he’s put it on his finger. To him, it represents so much more than a promise of marriage. It’s all of Shiro, all his flaws and his faults. For better or for worse, a promise to love him and to hold him through all of the fights and the late nights and the tears. It’s a testament, to the things they can’t fix. To the things they can work on, regardless.

He almost says this much out loud.

 He’ll spare embarrassing Shiro over it for now, and instead  flips Shiro’s palm towards him and presses three, five, ten more kisses to his ring finger. Shiro giggles behind him.

“...You’re somethin’ else, Shiro,” Keith sighs. He releases Shiro’s hand. “I gotta go an’ take care’a things outside before we do anything else, though.”

“Already done.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah. I got up early so you wouldn’t have to,” Shiro says. Slyly, “I even deactivated your alarm.”

“...You’re perfect.”

“Mm.”

Shiro buries his face in Keith’s hair and inhales deeply as Keith dries his hands on a handtowel and shifts in Shiro’s arms, trying to turn around to face him. Shiro keeps him in place with his hands on his hips.

“You smell like sweat.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you sleep on a bed of lava an’ you’re like a livin’ furnace.”

“Smells good.”

Keith leans against the sink and stares out the kitchen window as Shiro presses insistently against him.

“You’re confusin’ me, do y’wanna fuck or do y’wanna eat?”

“Both.”

Shiro paws at Keith’s ass and he leans a little more on the sink, an easy smirk rising to his lips.

“About that idea of you sittin’ on my face...”

Shiro’s lips press against the back of his neck and Keith gives an involuntary shiver.

“As soon as I get excited proper, you an’ I ain’t comin’ outta that bedroom for the rest of the day,” he warns. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed as Shiro backs off of him, letting him breathe and stand up straight.

“I’m sorry, Keith, I’m actually hungry and eating your biscuits and gravy is almost as good as eating ass.”

Keith barks out a laugh and whirls around to kiss the wide grin right off of Shiro’s pretty face.

“Alright, alright. C’mon. I’ll help’ya fix the biscuits.”

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find the Yeehaw AU and @buffshiro's artwork here.](https://twitter.com/buffshiro)
> 
>  
> 
> please consider following me [here on twitter](https://twitter.com/inkweaving), I am lonely and love to be interacted with and I bother tofu way too much


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